meaner 


a 


Sabah ta ke See rede etahlrem ab Dr aoe Dane 


mee 


Reka he 


Lent 


SLE 
Ns soit M3 i 


al i nce | 
Maan, Wi EH 
NaN 
PVP Puce J ; 
Why ‘ 
* 


4 
AAS ES AMEE , rs 
oon 


i 


— 


Ls A 
rey 
AY ia! 


a 
— 


eben 


i 
Pa AN Ss 


4 
GK 


fi > 
TERN 


fe ‘ 


: Meat 
Me 
Stier pate 


WOR ase a 
ea 
Pi Phin 
if ANS i fi i 
ae 
Ave Ne 


TAR, 
AE 
iy 
Sted 
atte 


Ts +4, 
4, F 
Bi 


ss 
My 


.C 
ahi 


{ 


BAAS 


in 
Ry 

BRN Nt MihayG 
avy i 1 


aa, 


os 
Ss 
ee - 


etree 
Sere 
Sous 


pirnstnt 


So? Spee 
See 
aioe 


Re 
ein tute 
Sse 


POLY 
ie 


A 
x 
ti 
Vey ay 
Shs 
ae 
ANG 


+ 


tae at SS 
~Sea Toe Seagrass 
apna 
Sate es 
Sia pene 


Seeere pee penne 
ies se. 


aes 

eee 

oo 
“oogn 


os 
“ 


ao 


so 
2 oe . 


aa 


ee : fo 


oes 
= 


Saran 


ee 


cee 


Sots 


= 
=, 
i 


ae 


ae 


; ‘ 


ees 
ae 
Nea 


Sone 
ae 


*¢ - 
ee 


= 


anne 


— 


ete a 
ewe 


So Saran 

CE an See - 
Sir 
and, 


ote 


et 
i me 
NERS 
Say 


ald 


Ba ne 


Sos) woe 
Sites 


= 


SN 


Brahh) 
RNa 


ae 


prov 
peta eh ts, 
rayne Mua 
C3) Rage at peat et 


Oe 


ae im 
ONG 


Soe Sees At 
es 
See 


Se 


2 


Sows 
aoa 


eau 
ee 


me? 
meee Miwtine 
~ Sanee 


+ es 
3 eB AVON, 7 
A RAFA TIS ARS 
‘ 

1 


te 


mene’ 


* wih 


¥ 
At inary 


Fm 


ae 
as 


= 
want 
bes 


Saar 


i } ‘? 
MUTE N VENI HAL 
eee See 


i 
i a es 
3 


wk 
Aiey 
ay 


4 
¢ 


*. 
¥ 
i 








} ca Peay Cnty 
rt MP, 
we ne 
Ma. 








sl 


























IRA EDWARD LEONARD, 


—~<€+OF THE+3>— 


CLASS oF 1879, MIDDLEBURY COLLEGE. 


Ss —_ <p> —_——. 


=H IS POEMS 


WITH A 


Meee (CTD OF His LIFE. 








BRATTLEBORO, VT., 
D. LEONARD, PRINTER. 
1879. 





TO 


€ 
THE MEMORY OF MY DEAR FRIEND, 


Poe DWARD LEONARD,” 


WHOSE SHORT CAREER WAS LONG ENOUGH TO MAKE ALL 
WHO KNEW HIM TO LOVE HIM, WHOSE POETIC GENIUS 
/ LED ALL WHO READ HIS WRITINGS TO ADMIRE 
HIM, AND WHOSE SUDDEN DEATH CAUSES A 
LARGE CIRCLE OF FRIENDS TO MOURN 
HIS EARLY DEPARTURE FROM A 
LIFE OF GREAT PROMISE, 


* 


AWW ce La: 








CAD, 
Ruane CVO ace 


HaRRY RIPLEY DORR. 





NG) 
> 


Gray Father Time, who with his sickle mows 
A goodly swath of men in many a field. 

Who calls us one and all to wait and yield, 

Nor sparing him who near his sickle goes, 

Has taken from our midst one whom we thought 
Would live long years, to give with tongue and pen 
Strong words of help unto his fellow men. 

But as he went, he left behind him nought 

That would not make us cherish all the more 
The memory of this kind and cultured man, 

Who but so lately life’s short pathway ran, 

And caused our hearts with grief to swell full sore. 
But good deeds of good men live long as light, 
And he once loved ne’er drifts from our mind’s sight. 





ro) * 








‘i = oT) uy 
The iN OOS Se 


sex! MEMOIR, —— 


Pel leah 








“7 RA EDWARD LEONARD, third son of Howard and 
: s Eliza Mattison Leonard, was born December r2th, 1854, at 
BS ‘Hampton, Washington Co., N. Y., and died at the same 
place, July 12th, 1875, aged twenty-three years and seven 





months. Farming was the occupation of his father. 
Naturally inclined to study, and mature for his age, he entered 
the district school between the years of four and five, which he 
attended with his four brothers and three sisters until his four- 
teenth year, and the winter terms of the same school until his 
seventeenth year. The fact that he was never very strong, which 
naturally kept him from the rough sports of youth, together with 
a curiosity to know something new, and a growing ambition to 
free himself from the restraints of farm-life, account in a measure 
for that diligence which, early evinced, remained with him to 
the last, and, to a large circle of mourning friends, appears the 
indirect cause of his early death. 

In his eighteenth year he attended a winter school in the 
village of Fair Haven, Vt., two miles distant from his home. At 
the age of nineteen he entered Castleton Seminary, Castleton, 


Vt., where he remained for two years. An ahaa natant 


8 MEMOIR. 


of*his seminary life is given in a letter from an intimate friend 


and instructor, Mr. R. E. Maranville. It runs as follows: 


etc 0 My acquaintance with Leonard began during the autumn 
of 1874, at Castleton Seminary, where he was fitting for college. 
_ Previous to this he had read but little Latin. He read the Latin 
Reader with the class, and at the same time read by himself five 
books of Caesar. After this he completed Virgil (the /&neid) 
and, I think, three orations of Cicero. He began the Greek 
grammar with the year, made rapid and thorough progress in the 
same, completing, I might almost say mastering it in one quarter. 
Being anxious to prepare for college during the year, I advised 
him to take up the Anabasis. I think he read two books, 
perhaps three, and was more thoroughly prepared both in Latin 
and Greek than young men generally are who have pursued a 
three years’ course. Until he had made considerable progress, in 
Greek, he used to come to my house for private instruction, 
remaining until midnight, and even later, in order that he might 
be prepared to enter college at the next Commencement. He 
had the Latin Salutatory and Valedictory at the close of the year, 
and acquitted himself with distinguished honor. His moral - 
character was faultless, and Mr. E. J. Hyde, who was the 
principal of Castleton Seminary at that time, often remarked to 
me that he never saw a more devoted student in every respect. 
Among his fellow-students he was the soul of honor, and was 


never guilty of an undignified word or deed.” 


It should also be added that he gave an oration at his gradua- 
tion, June 24th, 1875, on ‘** Evolution,” which was remarkable 


for its maturity of thought. 


At the following Commencement he passed. his college 
examinations, and in the autumn entered the class of 1879 in 
Middlebury College, Middlebury, Vt. Assuming his duties in 
that ins tion, he stepped into a wider sphere than that in which 








MEMOIR. 9 


he previously had lived, and immediately drew to himself a large 
circle of college friends. During his first term of college life he 
joined the Philadelphian (religious) Society, was. elected&class 
poet, and became a member of the Delta Upsilon 1 \Society. He 
entered upon his studies quietly and diligently, and, remaintéd 
from the first an honor-man in his class. Unassuming in his 
manners, genial in disposition, and of good judgment, he soon 
became the most popular man in his class, and, as his acquaintance 
grew, the most popular man in college. He could not be a 
partisan from his very nature, and consequently won over, by 
his kindness, even those whom circumstances tried to make his 
enemies. 

It was during his freshman year, in fulfilling his duties as 
class poet, that he wrote and read before his class the poems 
entitled, ‘‘ The River,” and ‘* Lake of the Beautiful Glen.” At 
the opening of his sophomore year he was elected class president, 
and was active in all pursuits of study and sport. Never in his 
college life was he guilty of an unworthy practical joke or college 
trick. A glimpse of the sophomoric life he led is given in his 
humorous poem entitled, ‘‘ A Fresh Tale,” which was written 
at this period. During this year he also read before the class the 
poems, ‘*‘ Faith,” ‘* To the Spirit of Poetry,” and a ‘‘Cremation 
Ode.” 

The studies of this year were of unusual interest to him, 
especially Greek. His peetic nature gave him an insight into 
the beauties of Grecian life, art and mythology. He, at this 
time, began to read extensively the best works of English prose 
and verse. He was a member of a club of college-mates, who 
read together the works of Milton, Shakespeare, &c. In these 
congenial pursuits he soon displayed a rare taste,, and began 
earnestly, and with no little ambition, to strike out for himself in 
the field of letters. 

At the close of his sophomore year he took an acts part in 


& 


10 MEMOIR. 


the incineration of Greek, which, at Middlebury, was a public 
and a very popular ceremony. He composed a dirge, which the 
class. chanted with great effect around the funeral pyre. He 
read an ode on the death of ‘‘ Beautiful Greek,” which was 
printed in the Rutland Hera/d in the account of the exercises. 
He spoke a declamation on the evening of the Parkerian Prize 
Speaking entitled, ‘‘ The Death of Maximillian Robespierre,” 
for which he was awarded the first prize of twenty-five dollars, 


by the unanimous vote of the committee and the audience. 


He spent his vacations at home, working more or less on the 
farm. Owing to his delicate constitution he never enjoyed this 
work, although he acquired quite a reputation ‘*in the swath.” 
_His sports were always of a quiet cast. He enjoyed intensely 
the beauties of nature. Hunting, fishing, strolling in the woods 
and rowing were his favorite out-door pursuits. His habits were 
all of the very best. He possessed a sweet, although not strong, 
tenor voice, and was considered the best singer inhis class. He 
never had instruction in instrumental music, and yet by himself 
and for his own amusement, had developed considerable skill at 
the piano-forte. 

During the summer vacation of 1877 he visited his oldest 
brother in New York City. It was during this last vacation 
that he began to complain of a chronic headache, a pain 
in his side, and a general nervousness, which were doubtless 
caused by the over-exertion of his preceding years in college. 
In this state he returned to his studies at the opening of the 
junior year. ‘This pain in his side increased, and, after consulta- 
tion with the doctor, he grew no better. He wrote in the latter 
part of October his most beautiful lyric, entitled, ‘‘ Metopora,” 
(The End of, Autumn), which was printed in the Undergraduate 
and was also copied extensively in papers within and outside 
the state. 


Hard, study and close confinement aggravated his trouble 


9 





EE TT Oe ee. ae 








MEMOIR. ee 


with his side, and about the last of October he went home, 
thinking to stay but a short time. Soon a slow, bilious fever set 
in and he was confined to his bed for three weeks. He recovered 
slowly. Twice was he discouraged by a relapse. At the close 
of January, with a permit from the doctor, he returned to college 
and his studies. Into these he plunged with zeal to catch up 
with his class. It was at this period of his life that he formed 
many pleasant connections with the village people of Middlebury. 
He was a leading spirit in a literary club, consisting of some 
twenty members, ladies and gentlemen. Here his fine appear- 
ance, his superior literary taste and his genial manners won him 
the friendship of all. At the last meeting which he attended, he 
rendered with great effect Coleridge’s ‘‘ Hymn Before Sunrise in 
the Vale of Chamouni.” 

He received an appointment to deliver a poem at the junior 
exhibition, which took place at the close of the winter term, 
1878. The anxiety which this caused, together with his close 
attention to his studies, brought on again his trouble with his 
side, combined with a rapidly increasing general nervousness. 
The unfinished poem entitled, ‘‘ The Spirit of Somberg Head,” 
was the one intended for the occasion ; but as the time approached, 
he sank so rapidly that he could not write, and was com- 
pelled to give up the undertaking. He was now in such a 
condition that he could not eat or sleep, and was only able 
to return to his home at Hampton, after the exhibition, under 
the influence of stimulants. As the excitement of his journey 
wore off, he found himself very weak. For three weeks he 
had what the doctors called a bilious fever. He gained slowly 
after this, and had entire confidence that he would get well. He 
even wrote several times to his college friends that he hoped on 
the following week to start on a visit to the West. He also 
built a few air castles with an intimate friend concerning a pro- 


jected tour in Europe. But catching cold, a heavy cough set in, 


49) MEMOIR. 


followed by a fever which: never wholly left him. This fever 
was of sucha complicated nature that the doctors seemed entirely 
at a loss. The cough indicated a lung trouble, and they called 


it consumption, although to the last he doubted the truth of their 


statement. 


About the first of June he took his bed for the last time and 
slowly wasted away. He had a peculiar cough every evening, 
which lasted several hours. But for all this he had no thought 
that his end was so near. He confidently spoke of his future 
plans and hopes to the very last. A week or so before his death 
his mind began to wander. On July 11th he seemed better, and 
the doctors gave some encouragement. On the morning of 
the 12th he appeared about the same, but towards night a 
change took place for the worse. At ten in the evening the 
family retired, leaving a brother and a neighbor watching. At 
eleven o’clock an irregularity of breath was noticed, and before 
the family could be called he breathed his last in the arms of his 
brother, passing away quietly, as if dropping into tranquil 


slumber. 


The funeral, which took place at his father’s house, July 
15th, was very largely attended by relatives and friends. It was 
to the great grief of his college friends and classmates, scattered 
during the summer vacation, that more of them could not receive 
word intime toattend. President C. B. Hulbert, of Middlebury 
College, and Rev. Dwight Spencer, of Fair Haven, conducted the 
services. He was buried in the new cemetery, in the southern 
part of the village of Fair Haven, within the shadows of a grove 


of maples. 


Such is a brief outline of the life and death of a dear brother 
and son, a.treasured friend and companion, a promising scholar 
and poet. It is not necessary to crowd the pages of his memoir 


with superlatives. They seem all tooinadequate. If you would 


* 





a 


Pe ee a 


Ce ee ee ee ee ee ee a 











MEMOIR. 13 


desire a full comprehension of his virtues, you must visit that 
home, thus bereft for the first time, and look upon the quivering 
lip and moistened eye as his name is whispered, and the dear 
mementoes of his presence are preserved with religious care; you 
must visit that grave, blooming with earth’s fairest flowers, 
watered by the tears of mother and sisters; you must listen to 
fond eulogies of friends and classmates ; then may you know the 
value of his life better than words can tell you. But for those 
who are strangers, and who, it may be at some future time, may 
read his beautiful verses and be curious to know the life of the 
youthful writer, words, however inadequate, are necessary. 

To describe the life and character of one who has seen long 
years of experience, to delineate his peculiarities as shown forth 
in a multitude of great deeds and striking facts, to collect from 
the lips of unnumbered friends the record of his virtues,—even 
this has been acknowledged the most difficult of tasks; but how 
much more severe a task is it to portray, in a befitting manner, 
the life of one who saw but the beginning of his manhood, 
whose short career had carried him but partially through the 
quiet shades of student life, and whose noblest characteristics 
were yet undeveloped by the sterner duties of life? 

*¢ Hd,” as he was familiarly called at home and among his 
acquaintances at school and college, had an unusually prepos- 
sessing appearance. He had a tall, graceful form, dark 
complexion, and black eyes, hair and moustache. At Mid- 
dlebury he was repeatedly called ‘‘the handsomest fellow in 
college.” He did not seem to have great physical vigor, and 
yet when called upon, did not fail to equal and often surpass 
his more pretentious fellows. His ways were quiet and 
unassuming. Thus writes an old instructor, Rev. R. J. Wil- 
liams: 

‘‘T remember him very distinctly, for he made a specially 


deep impression upon my mind. His very appearance gave one 


14 MEMOIR. 


a favorable first impression, and every word and every act in our 
subsequent intercourse served to strengthen it. He looked like 
a student, and he even acted like one in the pursuit of knowledge. 
He was true to himself and faithful to his duties. He had a 
quiet gentleness of manner, and never pushed himself forward 
into notice. He did not seem to care whether or no he was 
~ commended for faithful works; sustained by his own conscious- 
ness of doing what he could, he kept on ina steady, even course, 
always present in his place, always prepared, ready to step to the 
front, as modestly giving way to another. I ever felt, ‘ we shall 
hear from Leonard yet.’” 

Such is the universal testimony of all who came in contact 
with him. At home his pleasant ways made him a favorite 
brother and son. His fine taste and good judgment led all to 
look upon him as a trustworthy counselor. One of the most 
beautiful aspects of his life is the interest the little children of 
the neighborhood took in him. He would often desert older 
companions, and tell them stories by the hour. No more bitter 
tears were shed over his grave than those of these little ones who 
learned to love and honor him. Writes one of his college-mates : 

‘‘T rank him high, and, in many respects, superior. Like 
the rest of us he had his faults. They, however, were not 
prominent. The tenor of his life was lofty and his ambitions 
honorable. His bearing was always quiet and unpretentious. 
His unassuming nature, together with his genial disposition and 
good judgment, was the secret of his popularity. It was a 
difficult matter to become thoroughly acquainted with him. One 
could easily approach to a certain limit, but beyond that I was 
never able to go, and I think no one could.” 

It was his intention to teach for a few years after his gradua- 
tion from college, and eventually to study medicine. His tastes, 
however, were not strong in favor of any of the so-called pro- 


fessions. Many of his friends expected, from his early successes, 











MEMOIR. 15 


that in the end he would devote himself to literary pursuits. His 
ambition lay in that direction, although he never said much 
about it. As might be expected he was, from his earliest years, 
a great lover of books. He read with increasing enthusiasm 
during the last two years of his life, the works of most of the 
great English poets. Shelley and Keats were his favorites. His 
quiet, delicate, vet passionate temperament, enabled him to 
appreciate their rare images and to revel in the far reaches of 


their powerful imaginations. 


His own poetry was stamped by characteristics which were 
derived from no traceable outside source. It was rarely joyous, 
buoyant and cheerful, but rather, like his own life, sweet and 
badvee ine brie! lyric entitled, **Metopora,” in which he 
describes, with the most delicate imagery, the decay and death of 
autumn, is, perhaps, a typical illustration of his poetic tendencies. 
The ‘‘ sweetest, saddest melancholy,” which Milton describes, 
seems to have been the ‘‘ genius” of his life. He drank his 
inspiration, not from the works of other poets, but from nature 
herself, to whose rich treasury of form and color he seemed to 
have a more familiar access than is generally accorded to men; 
and never did one appear more humble and reverent at that 
sacred shine. Hesaw what others did not see, he heard what 
others did not hear, and hence the reason why his friends failed 


to approach him nearer. The tender, passionate spirit that 


animates his poem entitled, ‘‘ To the Spirit of Poetry,” portrays 


a rare poetic temperament, and shows his true relations to the 
beauty and truth he recognized around and within him. ‘That 
he had a keen sense of the ludicrous, is shown in ‘‘ A Fresh 
Tale.” This poem was hurriedly written and never revised, yet 


9 


contains a rich vein of humor. The poem, ‘‘Faith,” gives a 
glimpse of the religious feelings of the poet, which were so 


elevated and sacred that few could understand them. 


16 MEMOIR. 


‘‘ Shall we ever reach it—that fair peaceful country 
Where no storms of disappointment blow ? 
Where our lives in full completed beauty 
Like a quiet river ever on may flow? 


* * % * * 


Shall we ever gaze upon those Mountains holy, 
O’er which a heavenly luster gleams ? 

Shall we round them float on seraph pinion 
As we oft have floated in our dearest dreams ? 


Oh sweet Faith! of all our gifts thou art the richest; 
Lighting up the night-time of our heart. 

May we ever follow where thou leadest ! 
May thy living presence from us ne’er depart !” 


He was a firm believer in a Creator, whom he considered 
as the preserver of all things, and whose infinite spirit pervades 
the realms of nature. Before this Being his soul bowed in 
adoration, such as few could understand. He seems to have 
dedicated his life to the truth, and where it led he boldly followed. 
Sensitive to the errors of outward forms, he neVer connected 
himself with any church. Few felt worthy to approach him on 
the subject of religion, so unreproachable seemed his life and so 
elevated his ideas of right and truth and God. ‘The following 


lines may be quoted as expressing the substance of his faith: 


‘* I falter where I firmly trod, 
And falling. with my weight of cares 
Upon the great world’s altar-stairs, 
That slope through darkness up to God, 


I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, 
And gather dust and chaff, and call 

To what I feel is Lord of all, ty 
And faintly trust the larger hope.” 


The following appropriate words were spoken by President 
Hulbert to the class of 1879, of*which our friend was a member, 
at their graduation: | 





| 
: 





MEMOIR. 17 


** Especially do you recall, with grief and tender affection, 
one, who, into his third year, was with you, and who is not, for 
God has taken him. We together recall his manliness, his 
fidelity to duty, his cultured tastes, his love of the Muses and 
sweet verse, his noble aspirations and high promise of a useful 
life. It was a sad day, during last summer vacation, when a few 
of us gathered around his grave, ourselves among the weeping 
throng. May our Heavenly Father sanctify to you and to us and 
his large circle of weeping friends, the heavy grief which He 
has imposed. ‘There is this consolation, there is no waste in 
God’s providences. All there was of goodness, of nobility, of 
poetic genius, of high character in your friend and ours, is pre- 
served and in process of development in ‘that world where there 
is knowledge, where there is virtue, where there is beauty, and 
where there is progress.’”’ 

Could he have been spared, we know not what heights of 
nobleness such a devoted life might have reached, and what 
cheering words he might have uttered to his fellow-men. But 
a Providence, in which our friend put his utmost confidence, and 
Whose wisdom we cannot fathom, has taken from us him, who 
was ‘** The heart of honor and the tongue of truth.” 

His grave, within the flickering shadows of the maple grove, 
lies close to the heart of nature, with whom our friend was so 
much entranced. Life has been spared to us to perfect those 
virtues which crowned his days. May we follow, in the footsteps 
of our friend, that ‘‘ Sweet Faith”? which enabled him to answer 


for himself so confidently those persuasive lines: 


«« Shall we meet that band of friends we loved and cherished, 
Who have left us ’mid these shadows drear? 
Shall we join their happy circle standing 
’Neath celestial skies of cloudless azure clear?” 








3 ES Gee 


= POEMS. 


Ss J 


—~-— 








fete oPlIRIT OF POETRY. 


Why, as the fleeting years go by 
Does thy face linger near? 

Why beams a light from out thine eye 
To sadden, yet to cheer? 


O’er all the sunset-lighted scenes 
Of youth dark clouds have rolled ; 

No face gleams through the dreary waste 
Save thine so dear of old. 


Why do I feel thy presence when 
On nature’s breadth I gaze? 

And why come throbbing ’round my heart 
These memories of gone days? 


I feel thee in the beauty of 
These autumn days of rest; 
And in the silent woodland with 
The moonlight on its breast. 





20 


POEMS. 


I see thee in the glory bright 
That marks the dawning day ; 

And in the pearly-tinted clouds 
That fade and melt away. 


I hear thee in the rippling brooks 
When murmuring at my feet ; 

In dreamful hours I see thy form 
Of grace I may not greet. 


O fair, sweet vision of my youth! 
Did we, then, wrong to part? 

And can it be that we misjudged 

Those beatings of the heart? 


Shall I, Oh! thou of life a part, 
No more that rapture know 

I felt when hand in hand we roamed 
The vales of long ago? 


I stretch my hand to touch thy brow, 
Thy angel face hath flown, 

The empty winds float where thou wast 
And sigh ** Alone, Alone!” 


Still ’tis the same’ through all this life, 
Thy form but flits before ; 


- Eluding all my weak attempts 


To reach and know thee more. 


Why then dost haunt me, O fair face, 
To breed in me regret? 

Go, leave me with the busy world; 
Pll work—perchance forget. 


But no. What do I say? come back, 
Come back, nor let me roam. 

Unguided through the years to come 
A wanderer far from home. 








POEMS. 21 


Come back. Thou art my all in all 
As through the dark I grope. 

Come back and be my evening light, 
.My weather-gleam of Hope. 





Oe Bats 


Shall we ever reach it—that fair peaceful country 
Where no storms of disappointment blow, 
Where our lives in full completed beauty 
Like a quiet river ever on may flow? 


Shall we ever change the bitter pains and trials 
Of this life, for sweet immortal joys? 

Shall we ever know the blessed comfort 
Of a rest, where never eating care annoys? 


Shall we ever gaze upon those Mountains holy, 
O’er which a heavenly luster gleams? 

Shall we round them float on seraph pinion 
As we oft have floated in our dearest dreams? 


Shall we meet that band of friends we loved and cherished, 
Who have left us ’mid these shadows drear? 

Shall we join their happy circle, standing 
’Neath celestial skies of cloudless azure clear? 


Shall we find that all our earthly loves are merely 
Hints of Love the future has in store? 

Shall we some time drink at True Love’s Fountain 
Flowing free to all forever—evermore? 


z2 POEMS. 


Hopes and dreams, a throng as summer’s morning glorious, 
Like the birds to sunnier climes have own; 

Shall we greet them in their home supernal 
Where for us they wait, realities now grown? 


These the doubts and fears and questions ever coming 
From our lips when heart is faint and weak ; 

These the aspirations of our spirit 
Soaring on, its mystic future life to seek. 


Twining ivy-like ’mid fears and aspirations 
Gentle Faith uplifts her beauteous head: 
And she bids us be of good cheer alway 
As we journey on to meet the loved and dead. 
‘Earthly life, she says, must needs be full of sorrow, 
Dark with drooping shadows, moist with tears. 
But our hopes and dreams shall all be real 
When we’ve done with Time and swiftly flitting years. 


Oh sweet Faith! of all our gifts thou art the richest, 
Lighting up the night-time of our heart. 

May we ever follow where thou leadest, 
May thy living presence from us ne’er depart. 





SEM LM eres 


Far up ’mid mountains grim and wild, 
A little streamlet sweetly smiled 
And laughed amid the shadows. 
For well it knew it soon would go 
To brighter scenes in plains below, 
And flow through fragrant meadows. 








POEMS. 23 


So happily it danced along 
And sung its simple cheering song 
To gloomy pines above it ; 
And mountain flowers, with tender grace 
Bent down and kissed its dimpling face 
And vowed to ever love it. 


Through rocky glens it hurried on, 

A winding, devious course it ran, 

_ Increasing as it wandered. 

One final leap, the mountain stream 

Lay passive in the sun’s broad beam, 
Its headlong force all squandered. 


And now by other streamlets fed, 

Through living fields twined like a thread, 
Its silver waters glimmered. 

To thirsting kine at sultry noon 

Its waters proved a welcome boon ; 
And when the moonlight shimmered 


Upon its surface, there would float 

The light and graceful lover’s boat 
Laden with Love and Beauty. 

Awhile the pleased and happy stream 

Lay fast enchained in Love’s sweet dream. 
But soon the call of duty 


Aroused it, and with deeper flow 
It sought its mission down below 
Where mills and factories waited. 
It whirled the spindles, ground the grain, 
Then onward took it course again ; 
To seek the great sea, fated. 


And as it neared its destined home, 
Great white-winged ships from distant zone 
Came sailing slowly o’er it. 


24 


POEMS. 


It reached at last the boundless sea 
And joined the waters wide and free, 
Infinity before it. 


* * * * * 


Thus passed this river to its rest ; 

While blessing others, richly blest 
By peace and pure contentment. 

Thus may we pass our span of life 

Apart from scenes of noisy strife 
And anger and resentment. 


And when we near our final home, 
May white-winged angels from the throne 
Guide us to fields Elysian. 
And may that Presence pure and bright, , 
That fills the place with holy light 
Dawn on our opening vision. 





A. FRESH EAS 





In Middlebury College 
Not many years ago 
There was a class of Freshmen 
In smartness far below 
The average of classes 
That gather here for knowledge ; 
But in conceit and pride 
The foremost class in college. 
Soon after their arrival, 
In solemn duty bound 
The Sophomores decided 
That they would go around 





EO EEO oO ee 


iw) 
Or 


POEMS. 


And greet the Fresh. with music 
In soft and dulcet strains 

Expecting thus to merit 
Much thanks for all their pains. 

From harps and sweetest viols 
Upon the midnight air 

They poured a stream of music 
And concord rich and rare. 

The night wind ceased its sighing, 
The trees pricked up their ears, 

And even stones kept time to 
This ‘* Music of the Spheres.” 

And, as when strains Orphean 
Heard down in gloomy Hades 

Enchanted all the souls of 
The men as well as ladies, 

So would this music heard by 
Appreciative ears, 

Have filled the soul with rapture 
And calmed all raging fears. 

How was it with the Freshmen, 
Did they enjoy it well? 

And did their homesick spirits 
Grow calm beneath its spell? 
Ah no! they heard and wondered 

And finally got mad, 
And swore by all the prophets 
That they had never had 
So great an insult offered 
Unto their dignity, 
And vowed they wouldn’t stand it, 
‘* Not much,” ‘* oh, no, siree!” 
Accordingly they voted, 
In solemn conclave met, 
That they would pay the Sophies, 
And sweet revenge would get. 
They’d torture ears Soph’moric 
With drums and horns of tin; 
Their plan, viewed by the Sophies, 


26 


ta 
. 


POEMS. 


Was too exceeding thin. 
At midnight’s holy hour, 
This noble Freshman band 
Before the Sophies’ quarters, 
In trembling took their stand ; 
And after much persuading 
Upon their leader’s part 
They finally consented, 
Although with quaking heart, 
To go into the building | 
And to ascend the stairs, 
Each one with fervor saying 
Unto himself his prayers. 
They reached with toil and labor 
At last the upper floor 
And ranged themselves in silence 
Around the Sophie’s door. 
Toot! Toot! upon the tin horns, 
Tum! Tum! upon the drum, 
Then like a storm in winter 
The dreaded Sophies come. 


-The Fresh. are filled with terror, 


On all sides shouts arise ; 
Their mouths are filled with ashes 
And likewise too their eyes. 
Next comes a storm of water 
Mixed with foul slush and slops. 
Each Freshman groans in anguish, 
Each heart with terror flops. 
Then down the stairs they scatter 
And hustle, run and jump, 
And many a head is battered 
By many a savage thump 
From coal-hod thrown by Sophie, 
Who shouts with joyful cry 
Say Freshies, do you like it? 
Ha! ha! how’s that for high?” 
Like deer before the hunter 
Or doves before the kite, 








POEMS. Ray 


The Freshmen crew skedaddled 
Into the darksome night. 
Nor could the loudest yelling 
Or even taunts and jeers 
Recall them from their fleeing, 
Their ever-active fears 
Pursued them through the darkness, 
In form of Soph’more bold, 
And when they ceased their running 
Has never yet been told. 
Next morning, when bright Phoebus 
Upon old Painter Hall, 
His flood of shining arrows 
Complacently let fall, 
Within the Soph’s division 
He saw a wond’rous sight. 
The captured arms of Freshmen 
Who fled in mortal fright. 
There lay a heavy bludgeon, 
And with it'side by side, 
A hat all crushed and broken, 
A Freshman’s former pride. 
And there were horns unnumbered 
And caps and one lone belt, 
And one potato-masher 
Which some poor Freshman felt 
Would be a noble weapon 
To crack a Soph’more head, 
But which he dropped in terror 
When first he heard their tread. 
There’s more that’s worth the telling ; 
And if I had the time 
I'd bend my humble powers 
And tell it you in rhyme— 
I can only hope that sometime, 
A poet brave and true, 
Will tell to you the story 
Of the Freshman’s Waterloo. 


28. 


POEMS. 


METOPORA. 


Autumn’s face appears again, 
Sweet and sad as e’er of old; 
Misty eyes and drooping lids, 
Locks of richest sunset gold. 
Ah! but do you mark her breath? 


’Tis the gentle sigh of death. 


Faint her ebbing pulses beat 
Gene the summer’s warmth and glow; 
Soon her face will pass away, 
Winter winds will o’er her blow. 
Ah! stern Death, thy chilling pall, 
Falls upon earth’s beauties all. 





LAKE OF THE BEAUTIFUL GLEN: 


Of all the sweet memories thronging 
On my brain as I dream of the past, 
There is one that is dear to me ever, 
One I know that forever will last. 


*Tis of wand’ring away in the twilight ; 
Wand’ring far from the vision of men, 
With the dearest of all dear companions 
To the Lake of the Beautiful Glen. 


Oh! thou Lake of the Beautiful Glen, 
Speaking blessings and peace to the heart, 
May no storms mar thy surface so calm ; 
May thy lessons of love ne’er depart. 





POEMS. 29 


In the soft and subdued light of even’, 
Ere the twilight had flown to the west, 
The little Lake slept in the stillness 

Like a babe on its own mother’s breast. 


"Neath the whispering trees at its margin, 
Where flowers breathe fragrance so rare, 
We sat; and the whip-poor-will’s love song 
Came sweet on the listening air. 


Oh! ye who have ne’er felt the pleasure, 
The dainty and exquisite joy, 

That wells from the heart’s purest fountain 
At the touch of the sly Archer Boy, 


Cannot know the sweet feelings and throbbings 
That surged through each fluttering breast, 

As we opened our hearts to each other, 

And our mutual loves were confessed. 


More beautiful then seemed the Lakelet, 
Transformed with a glory the place, 

But far sweeter and dearer than either 
To me was my own darling’s face. 


Did I kiss it? Ah! well, ask the flowers, 
Perchance they the secret will tell, 
But I promised to never disclose it 
And [ll guard it forever and well. 


One by one the pale stars glittered o’er us, 
Gently fell the soft dews to the ground, 
Still we lingered, our happy souls blending 
With the harmonies floating around. 


30 POEMS. 


For we knew we must part on the morrow, 
Although to each other grown dear, 

When to meet we knew not, but our pathviaaes 
Might sever for many a year. 


One last look at the Lake in the moonlight ; 
On the morrow a pressure of hands ; 

And we parted—so Fate had decreed it— 

I to travel in far distant lands | 


Years have passed ; when I think of that Lakelet, 
Purest, holiest memories rise. 

The Lake yet remains, but the maiden 

Has flown to her home in the skies. 


Oh! thou Lake of the Beautiful Glen, 
Speaking blessings and peace to the heart, 
May no storms mar thy surface so calm, 
May thy lessons of love ne’er depart. 





CREMATION ODE.’ 





Mourn for a loved and a beautiful maid, 
Weep in your grief and your woe; 

Rend your white robes, bow in sorrow your head, 
Beautiful Greek lieth low. 


Sorrowing mourners, O, spare not your groans, 
Wail for the spirit that’s fled, 

Beat your sad breast and redouble your moans, 
Beautiful Greek lieth dead. ; 


With us are lamenting the spirits of air, 
Earth hides her fair face in deep night ; 

Nature grows sad at the death of the fair, 
The future is robbed of its light. 








POEMS. at 


No more shall we hear our fair Greek’s tuneful lays, 
No more shall we list to her tone, 

No more will she lead us in her pleasant ways, 
She’s gone, and we wander alone. 


Oh! who can forget the mild light of her smile 
As she, the fair maid, sung the past, 

And her eye’s deep enchantment that cheered us the while, 
Though we knew her sweet life could not last. 


Oh! many a tale of the world’s youthful prime, 
And many a legend she told 

Of heroes and gods in that bright sunny clime 
Whose glory can never grow old. 


She sung of the maids, the nymphs and the fauns, 
Those fairy-like creatures that rove 

Through asphodel meadows and over green lawns, 
And sport in the wide leafy grove. 


Sublime, mighty epics the fair maiden sung 
In measures of melody clear. 

Oh! how on each accent enraptured we hung 
As we scanned the kind face of our dear. 


We learned of brave warriors, of battles, of steeds, 
That whirled the great chariots along ; 

And like the old Grecians to meet our sore needs, 
We purchased a steed swift and strong. 


Then ah! how we galloped o’er places obscure. 
More easy and straight grew our course, 

We thanked the dear maid for her wonderful cure 
Of fizzles and flunks—a swift horse. 


For four years we wooed our dearly loved Greek, 
At first with a shy, boyish fear ; 

But at length we grew bolder, developed more cheek, 
And doubled our ardor each year. 


on POEMS. 


We wooed her when birds of the twilight had flown, 
And when lamps of the midnight burned low ; 

We dwelt in a fanciful world of our own, 
All tinged with bright Hope’s fervid glow. 


We thought not that parting and death were so nigh ; 
We dreamed not of black dreary night; 

We basked in the light of her innocent eye, 
And hoped for long years of delight. 


Alas for our hopes! a vast, hideous form 
Arises and frowns o’er our path. 

The fierce corporation is brewing a storm, : 
Oh, where shall we flee from his wrath! 


We seized our fair darling and bore her away 
For Freshies to woo and to win, 

But torn from our bosoms she lived not a day, 
Her soul fled the world’s noisy din. 


How misery broods o’er our sophomore hearts 
And darkness our future life palls ; 

All joy of the morrow with weeping departs, 
Our steeds lie unused in our stalls. 


Soon flames shall enfold her dear form in their arms — 
And waft her cold corpus on high, 

Her beauty shall crumble with all its sweet charms 
And we in our sorrow must die. 


*The above was written on short notice and delivered on 
the College Campus at the cremation of the Greek by the class 
of 1870, on the evening of June 22, 1874, 





POEMS. 


WRITTEN IN A COUSIN’S ALBUM. 


Friendship is too oft a fragile plant 
Showing buds that wither ’ere they bloom ; 
Our’s, I trust, will flourish with the years, 
And, transplanted, live beyond the tomb. 
| January 25, 1878. 





TO A STAR. 


: 
; 


O happy, happy evening star, 
Low sinking in the west, 

Bear thou a message sweet, I pray 
To her I love the best. 


Beam gently on her as she walks 
Alone beside the sea ; 

Enfold her with thy purest light 
And kiss her lips for me. 


And whisper softly in her ear— 
Tho’ ocean’s breadth doth sever, 
As constant as thy changeless self, 
My love shall shine forever. . 
February 14, 1878. ST. VALENTINE. 





ot 7 POEMS. 


THE SPIRIT OF SOMBERG EAs 


s 


In the wide and restless deserts of the far off northern seas, 
Rise the cliffs of Kilda’s Island, swept by every Arctic breeze. 


Dwellers on the rocky barrens of this lone secluded Isle 
Watch with eagerness the coming of the brief bright summer’s © 
smile 


For a swarm of seabirds with it, here will end their northward 
flight, 

And bring forth their callow offspring on each splintered, craggy 
height. 


Hunters bold will then be swinging over many a headland crest, 
Catching in their nets thé petrel, plundering the sea-gull’s nest. 


Yet altho’ they fear no distance, but can calmly look below 
Where a thousand feet beneath them angry waves like ripples flow. 


Still they shun to hunt the wild fowl that have perched on 
Somberg Head, 
For the gloomy cliff is haunted and strange things of it are said. 


When the shades of evening gather and the storm king madly raves, 
O’er the cliff a white form leaneth, peering down into the waves. 


And a sound of grief and wailing rises on the rushing air 
Like the cry of ruined mortals, wrestling with a grim despair. 


Children in the fowlers’ cabins hear this cry with faces pale, 
And their mothers often calm them with this legendary tale :— 


‘‘Long ago there lived a maiden, Alice Brent, a fowler’s child; 
Fair she was as summer’s morning, gentle as the south wind mild. 








POEMS. oo 


And she had two foster brothers, Eric fair and Alwin dark, 
Whom as babes her father rescued from a shattered stranded bark. 


Grown at length to noble manhood, these two foundlings of the 
sea 
Over all the isle were famous for their daring bravery. 


Void of fear they sought the Gull’s nest where it hung the 
waters o’er, 
And they scaled the dizzy summits never scaled by man before. 


Often they would bring to. Alice some strange flower frail and 
white ! 

Which they found perchance while swinging half way down 
the sea wall hight. 


For they both loved maiden Alice, and like courtly knights of old 
Worshipped her as some fair princess, tho’ she wore no crown of 


gold. 


And the maiden loved her brothers, loved them with a sister’s 
pride, 
Thinking not that other love within her bosom could abide. 


Yet sometimes when they were gathered round the fireside’s 
cheerful blaze. 
Chanting some old Norseland saga of the vanished mythic days, 


Eric’s manly voice would waken throbs unwonted in her breast, 
And a glance of his blue eyes would fill her with a strange unrest. 


Still he spoke not, and the maiden heeding not her beating heart, 
Treated both with equal love, nor dreamed of loving them apart. 


Time sped onward, but fair Alice learned at last on one sad day 
All the mighty love for Eric that within her bosom lay. 


She had gone to meet her brothers, and the sun low down the west 
Found the maiden meekly waiting on old Somberg’s lonely crest. 


B02 POEMS. 


For the brothers tarried late adown the headland’s rocky side, 
Searching o’er the shelves and ledges where the wildest seabirds 
hide. 


Down below the dim horizon sunk the sun in splendors bright, 
And the tossing seas were flooded with a purple, misty light. 


Ah! the maiden sees the signal, sees the rope grow taut and stiff, 
And she knows a precious burden slowly rises up the cliff. 


Eager o’er the brink she gazes; far below the hunters brave 
Look scarce larger thana sea-gull, hovering o’er the ocean’s wave. 


Half the distance is accomplished, still they rise with progress 
slow, . 
Laden with their feathery plunder; Alwin first, Eric below. 


Now the maiden waves her kerchief, calls to them as near they 
. rise, 
And the hunters both look upward with a pleased, a glad surprise. 


Ah! what pales their upturned faces, why this pause in their 
ascent? 
Why ‘that frozen look of horror on the face of Alice Brent? 


God! a sight has met their gaze that well may pall the stoutest 
heart. | | 
See, the slender rope is breaking, another moment and ’twill part! 


Not an instant pauses Eric, quicker than it can be said, 
Flashes out his hunter’s knife and cuts the rope above his head. 


Down he shoots, far down the distance, like an arrow to its mark, 
Till the hungry sea receives him in its bosom cold and dark.” 


* % * * * * * 


(This fragment was the first draught of the poem the poet 
intended to deliver on the Junior exhibition stage, Middlebury 
College, March, 1878. His rapidly failing health prevented its 
completion. Enough, however, was written to give the reader 
a clue to its whole design.) 





“ ? ‘ 
ary 
' ; 4 
‘ E a 
te 
e 
oR 
: 
m 
} “ 
¢ , ‘4 " ~~ 
\ ’ 
Pies a j 
€ 7 a | ‘ : 
A “ 
‘ . - ok 
* » ‘ 4 
[ \ 
. 
* 
Pa 4 
mt A ~ = — 
. 5 











og 


ta 








DOL 


me IQ 2. 


» 


fA 


Me 


rm 


or 

ry) 
B 
isd 
ee 
> 
a 
{4 
Oo 
ee | 
dus 
= 





ab” es 


mar 


ate 
a 
oe 


ere 
Puta at— 


eae 
ees 


Ssabe 
SS 


oe 


7 
Meares 


Sera 
or : 


ees 
Oe Sheets 


oo 


ras 
sae ys 


wae 


om: 


Sais nes 
ett me Ee 


“ ees 


Rea shed nea ia 
VASSAR EU ERC A 
oe PERRET ESET GS ne ie 
wae oT Ria Tnes ae in 0 ae ei Bat 
4 Ae ! X Net ek SRR a 
yeaa a i a Ne “ aa ne 
Seats Det 4 a8) 
Haan va ‘i a aie ae ae ae ae ‘ 
ae y x8 aN oH x we na NUE Bee 


: ht 
ey a) 
a 


aye Bs s nt 
an p vf of oY ua 
Ae i. ce 
4 


uy i : ‘i 
i 
i y 


Ae 
$e 


sire 


eras 


. - 
. . 
Bi ae i see ie 
a 
Ries Ne 


x . a wh 


Le 
; ae 


. . 
cans 


Se 
“a 


~ fe 
eee tre ees 
peaaee ee Rem 


ae 


eee 


ae 


eae, 
eniperee iar wae 


<. 
ove 
a: 


“ow 


Ses 
——, Siete : 


sim Rennes 
Pn ” 


*, 
a 


oot 
ee 
ten 
wie? 
=< 


6, 
Sect 


Seth ele, 
(nie wteien : 


Bisiee te aye i : A 7 s 

wah, 

ae le : on 

co Gain 
he SN a int We) eves 
een ri . i in oy 
Ae He 


Oe 


Ley ey 
Carvel a on ox 
a taatiaes hoe 
ie 


ship sau # 
Oe 
oF Rae ee 
oR Up ig 2 Sy aati Hk oe ‘sth 
. ee Pate os al : ts 
a ne 
/ cu Ra : 


yy 
ae wn i 


= 
Sree 


ee 


maoncanen ss 
seers : 
ae ue ed eat 


a3 


oS 
ate 
sor 


eS 


uh 


soak 
waar 


See aera 
= 
a) bee 


ie 


oar, 


Ses 


Skt 
oe fenrid 
aD 


oe 

‘ 
Bi 
beth eee 


oem 
cs, 


Ons Cig 
5 =e 
perooerees 
Seis 
pees 
et 
= 
aig 


—~ 


iN 


ae 
: a 
i 


o 
Scene 
ree 


See 
= 


ee 
Xietoe 
a 
& 
re 
On. ere 
See” 
= 
Saeaig 


i 


a! bie 
dye hens, 
ed ay 


a fy 
Cee lg al nae oe? 
red Pali one oat 

eS 


‘tt 


pee 
ue as NY AY 
o) BAe 


cone 


+ Tee ss pre yA, 
neta Pe Sena 
- oa eet Rrra 


Be 
sae 


Aer acs SSP 
6 yee 
a Ae es 
tis 

} Ue 


Bose 


ar 
cae 
a 


oe! 


eagle al 


"ae 


esa 
ca es Se aes ae 
= pe ve a 
Ss nel ae 


ra 


* 


‘3 ie 


read 


coeeaee 
ae 


Pa 


pb 
<n tes 
Saoc ee 


Seat 
ties eae 


oo 


Au 


oe. 
eS a 
eee Uae a, 
Seatoete 


eeheads 
Ny ne 


as ‘ 
fe thee 
i 


Shy 


Wak oe 
Bi) ash 
sa i 


Si 
ra 


nie 


SN hant 


Ay a A. 


Seung 
a 


e 
* 


een were te 
ep age eee. MOR aca eee 
—aeeh Seite tegen 
Ser ne aoa Ge aS 
: oe 


i ae 
a 
i Hips 


ie tet 


pee 


— 


Revere eae 


IE een Roe ; 
= na M iene eet Sl LORS 


Oe “ 


Saas 


= = See 


Ste oa} 





